Harry, Part 1

The last time I saw Harry, he looked good. He was as lighthearted and curious as ever, and as the night went on, we changed our plans on every whim, as we always did. The clink of brimming glasses. The ringing of the car bells, the candle lights, yellow bulbs, and disco rays reflecting off bottles and cigarette cases. My hand reached for a cig; the tobacco crumbled into a fine dust between my thumb and forefinger, and he took it from me.

There was a bus to the club district waiting outside the bar, but we hopped into a taxi instead. We resisted the temptations of the night and the city and escaped to better places.

Somewhere better than this place—that’s what we always sought. And seekers find each other, Jamie would say. But I didn’t find Harry so much as run into him, at full speed. We were just two kids looking for fun. And we didn’t care about anything else.

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